


Muscle and Neuron and Nerve

by Nellasaura



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Original, Begging, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon Non-Binary Character, Crossover, Dancing, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Heavy BDSM, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mechaphilia, Original Universe, Other, POV Original Character, SQUIP-only BMC AU, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellasaura/pseuds/Nellasaura
Summary: Six hundred years in a post-apocalyptic future, an experimental prototype supercomputer encourages its frustrated host to indulge in a couple of stress-relieving exercises.  And if you think "stress-relieving exercise" sounds like a euphemism for "the SQUIP doms its host in the middle of a mecha hangar while using said mecha AS the bondage device", well, you would be correct!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Muscle and Neuron and Nerve

**Author's Note:**

> **The AU, in brief:**  
Six hundred years in the post-apocalyptic future, a highly advanced and highly experimental prototype supercomputer is implanted in the brain of career mech-jockey Devero. Its intended program: to improve his efficiency and operation on the battlefield. Unfortunately for their working relationship, his SQUIP unit has determined that to do so, it needs to optimize _every_ aspect of his life, not just the battlefield parts. Fortunately for Devero, that means working to free him from the control of his abuser (and employer), Valdana.
> 
> That latter is a work in progress, though, and the SQUIP needs to ensure that its host can endure until it successfully neutralizes Valdana's threat. Socialization, companionship, emotional and physical support: all are tools in its arsenal to help it ensure that Devero's needs are met.
> 
> _All_ of Devero's needs...

It's late, near the end of his second shift of the day when Devero steps out into the cold night. He hesitates on the stoop of the engineering building, then takes a deep breath and begins to make his way towards the exo hangar across the courtyard. 

He knows he shouldn't be abandoning his post like this. His knows he should remain in engineering, performing the very important and necessary task of staring at a screen while the results of a simulation program compile, but he just-- can't. He can't play along any further tonight with the farce that his presence on this engineering night shift is actually necessary. There's nothing for him to _do_ that a computer program can't do just as well-- and that his SQUIP can't do even better than _that_. Even now, the supercomputer implanted in his brain is monitoring that simulation for him.

His SQUIP is also the one who'd suggested he get out of engineering and take a walk, although it had left the destination to him.

Its avatar strolls beside him, of course unaffected by the early winter chill. It's quiet, making no comment as Devero scans into the hangar. He ducks inside and shuts the door quickly, to keep the draft from following him in. When he turns around, the avatar has already re-materialized inside the building. 

_’Any problems?’_ he asks it without speaking aloud, of the task he's left to its supervision.

The generally pleasant round face creases in an affronted scowl. _’You know I would inform you as soon as there was an issue, Devero,’_ it says. _’You also know the probability of there being **any** issue with this pointless assignment that requires your intervention is minuscule.’_

He sighs. _’I know.’_ But he feels self-conscious regardless, as if Morraine is going to emerge from the shadows and take him to task for abandoning his work.

Or someone worse than Morraine.

That worry must be pretty loud in his mind, because the SQUIP speaks up again. _’We are not abandoning anything. I'm doing the work, even if you're not present.’_ Its mental voice goes quieter, almost gentle as it continues. _’There's nothing to worry about. I've got this covered.’_ It turns its head and 'looks' deeper into the building. _’Go ahead.’_

Devero pushes back his hood and strides forward. It's dim and almost silent in the hangar, except for a distant, faint thrum of idling machinery elsewhere in the building. Exo bays line the walls, each one housing an inert machine. Automatic overhead lights accompany his passage; glass panels flash and wink like animal eyes as he passes. 

To a casual observer, he imagines the machines must seem indistinguishable. To Devero, the ranks of bipedal exo-suits are as individual as their pilots. He doesn't need to check the number painted on the floor to know which one is his; he'd be able to pick his unit-- callsign: Babysitter-- out of a line-up from 100 yards. He steps into the bay and pats the machine's flank like an equestrian greeting a favorite beast. His exo even seems to respond, the onboard computers detecting his EMID and coming out of standby with a quiet whirr.

The SQUIP's avatar is in his peripheral vision. Its hands move in the gesture he's come to realize means it's interfacing with another computer, and the exo's systems blossom open to them both.

Next, it's Devero's hand that gestures, and the exo's front paneling that blossoms open, revealing the cockpit inside. He plants a foot on the step built into the nearer leg, grabs a handle sculpted into an exterior panel, and swings himself inside with ease-- not even a twinge from his broken rib.

_’I anticipate that Doctor Armaceau will be lifting the last of your restrictions soon,’_ his SQUIP says, its voice in his ear despite the fact that its avatar has dissolved away.

_’Good.’_ Devero inclines himself into the angled cockpit seat, relaxing into the familiar contours with a sigh. _’I'm so tired of make-work.’_

_’But we're so good at it,’_ it says wryly. 

Devero isn't fooled; the SQUIP has at times actually seemed as frustrated and bored as he's been, doing nothing more strenuous than processing paperwork these past several weeks. He laughs quietly. _’We're good at other things too,’_ he says, _’and I'd like to get back to doing some of those.’_

The SQUIP makes a thoughtful, wordless noise in his mind, but doesn't say anything further. Devero settles back in his seat and moves his hands against the control joysts. The machine closes around him, humming as if in welcome. The main display lights up with the view from the forward cameras, the rest of the panels populating in his vision a moment later. Alternate camera views, instrument readouts-- and in one of the smaller screens to the side, the SQUIP's face, watching him. 

Babysitter shifts restlessly in its cradle as Devero's fingers flex and relax around the joysts. He glances at the face in display, which raises an eyebrow at him in response.

"The simulation?" he asks it.

The SQUIP snorts dismissively. _’Progressing unremarkably, of course.’_ On the screen, it glances over its shoulder, as if looking out the front of the exo. _’Go on,’_ it says. _’I will monitor your body and let you know if you're putting your recovery at risk.’_

Oh, it knows him so well.

Devero engages the exo and drops it out of the cradle. He walks it forward, smooth and unhurried, and pilots it out to the basic, beginner's obstacle course in the far corner. He's guided enough recruits through this over the years that he could probably walk it sensor-blind, but he doesn't take that risk tonight-- especially when he's not even supposed to be in here. Regardless of the course's simplicity, it feels good to move the suit over and around the obstacles. He always misses his exo when he can't get in it for a while.

The SQUIP offers no commentary while he works the machine, but he's aware of its presence nonetheless. It's there in the way his suit responds now to his merest flicker of intention, rather than cruder neuromuscular impulses; the SQUIP makes the interface between the man and his machine so seamless as to be nearly non-existent. All the best exo jockeys feel their suits as an extension of their own bodies, of course, but with the SQUIP in his head, it's more like inhabiting a second skin. He's always felt like he's at his best when he's jockeying, but with the SQUIP, he _transcends_.

He must be thinking particularly loudly about that, because the SQUIP chuckles, the sound intimately close in the confines of his head. It doesn't remark on his musings, though, saying instead, _’You needed this.’_

Devero shrugs minutely in the control harness. "This is where I belong, not trapped behind a desk."

_’It's certainly a more fitting use of our talents,’_ the SQUIP says in prim, serene agreement. 

Reaching the end of the obstacles, Devero turns his exo around and looks back over the completed course. He pauses for a moment, self-indulgent desire warring with his acute awareness that this is neither where he's supposed to be nor what he's supposed to be doing right now. He should re-dock his exo. He should return to the engineering offices. He should be sitting and doing Valdana's stupid pointless punishing busywork.

But fuck it, _he doesn't want to._

"Can you pipe in some music?" he asks his SQUIP. "Something with a beat."

There's no mistaking the wicked little grin on the supercomputer's avatar face as it obliges him. The cockpit speakers start to pulse as the SQUIP picks a stream. Devero listens long enough to recognize the song, then steps out onto the course again. He begins to navigate the obstacles in reverse-- and in time with the music. He's never tried dancing in his exo before; before, he never would have dared risk the expensive equipment (or himself).

But he's never had a SQUIP before, nor been working his machine without critical eyes on him.

He feels absolutely ridiculous as he steps and slides around the obstacles, but the exo's feet are striking the floor in time with the music, and the machine feels more responsive and fluid then it's ever been, and he can't deny that this is fun. He laughs, soft but exultant, as he executes a tricky little pivot-- and then stumbles, the machine's foot catching hard and unexpected against a seam in the concrete flooring of the hangar. _Oh, I'm fucked,_ he thinks distantly as Babysitter lurches. The interface between himself and his suit has gone all jangly and discordant and he's as helpless as a novice, all control lost as the machine starts to topple.

But then his exo's tumble arrests abruptly, jerking him against the control harness. The machine rights itself without conscious prompting from his mind or body, and through the main viewscreen he can see--

Devero laughs again, simultaneously startled and totally unsurprised: an exo-sized SQUIP avatar has filled the forward screen and it's setting the machine back on its feet.

It's all a simulation, of course. The SQUIP is controlling the machine's actions directly, and possibly even his own body's. It's not actually out there. But it does so like to _manifest_, to make itself real to him, and it feels real enough right now. The avatar even seems to meet his eyes through the viewscreen. Its grin shows teeth.

_’Careful there, soldier. Don't get carried away.’_

"As if you'd let me damage the equipment," Devero shoots back, and seizes the avatar's 'hands' with the machine's.

For a split second of non-reaction he's holding nothing, but then there's biofeedback transferring through the external tactors and into his skin. He may be just a man in a machine interacting with the computer in his brain, but it _feels_ like he's 15 feet tall and taking an equally giant partner's hands with his own. He leads into the beat of the song playing heedlessly on, and the SQUIP's up-sized avatar matches him effortlessly as they sway through the rest of the obstacle course.

It can't resist a challenge, and he knows it. There's not a missed step or a snagged servo for the rest of the exercise.

Despite the relatively mild exertion, Devero's breathing hard by the time they finish the course. He releases the joysts and runs a hand through his hair, raking it back out of his eyes. It's damp with sweat; he's lost a bit of his physical edge these past few weeks of enforced physical restriction, and that bothers him. 

Transferred feedback from external tactors twinges against his nerves again, Babysitter listing slightly as if-- _there's nothing actually there, but_\-- as if there's weight hanging off the front handholds. In his ears is the ringing sound of knocking against the machine's metal hull. He triggers the cockpit to open, and, yes, there's the SQUIP's avatar, back to normal size and perched outside as casually as if it's been doing this as long as he has. It looks as smug as the cat that got the cream, but when it addresses him it says merely, _’Your shift is over. The simulation continues to proceed unremarkably. I have left it to run to completion overnight, as you were instructed.’_ A pause. It tilts its head slightly as it regards him. _’What now, Devero?’_

Spurious impulses and tantalizing desires flicker through his mind. He entertains hedonistic fantasies for a moment, then shakes his head and says only, "We should go home so I can get to bed."

_’Hm.’_ The SQUIP doesn't respond otherwise, but it does jump down off the exo. It must be distracted by something, because the avatar 'lands' soundlessly and without weight. Devero's noticed that by now, that its simulation of physicality loses detail when its devoting processor power elsewhere.

He doesn't ask, though. He just re-engages Babysitter and walks it back to its bay, and tries not to resent that his schedule tomorrow requires his abstention tonight. At least tomorrow he's off Chiyhyoon's shift; he can use the morning to catch up on the domestic chores that have fallen by the wayside with this punishing work schedule.

Already reviewing tomorrow's to-do list in his head, he's distracted as he disconnects from his exo and climbs down out of the cockpit. So when he turns and finds the SQUIP's avatar directly in front of him, he startles back a step.

It makes one of those angular movements with its hands and then his machine moves behind him, reaching out and caging him loosely in its own, much bigger hands.

"What the--?" He recalls himself and shuts his mouth. He squints suspiciously at the SQUIP as it folds its hands behind its back and starts to pace in a circle around him. _’What are you playing at?’_

_’Your mental and emotional condition was much improved by that exercise,’_ it says. _’It is imperative that we prolong the high, if possible, especially given how little chance you have for leisure currently.’_ It meets his eyes briefly before it ducks under Babysitter's extended arm and out of his sight. He tries to turn to watch it, but the metal joints are locked and the fingers closed around him just tightly enough that he can't easily twist around.

Behind him, it continues, _’We **should** go home now, but we don't have to. You **can** sleep in tomorrow.’_

It emerges from under the machine's other arm and when it does, it's _changed_. Gone is the casual white clothing it usually wears, replaced with a crisp, dark suit of sharp, almost martial cut. It wears no insignia of rank or markers of affiliation, but there's no mistaking the structure of the simulated clothing-- nor the parted collar of the shirt, tie absent, jacket hanging unbuttoned and open. 

It's still, unmistakably, his SQUIP. It's just that it's now become his _Sir_, as well.

His breath catches in his throat as the SQUIP says, _’Would you like to negotiate a scene, Devero?’_

He licks his lips. _’Here?’_

_’Yes. Here.’_ It cocks its head to the side and smiles a crooked, sharp little smile at him; Devero knows without having to ask that its seen certain fantasies of his.

He takes a breath, another. The boy may be eager but the man isn't reckless. _’The security systems, the cameras. My implant.’_ He hasn't been released back to full duties yet, which means his implant is still synced into medical monitoring. If his biometrics go too wacky, he has no doubt that Natily will investigate.

The SQUIP's smile somehow tilts, becoming even sharper and more crooked. _’Looped,’_ it says simply. _’All looped. We're secure here, if you elect to proceed.’_

If. _If._ It's so careful about his consent, now. He worries his lower lip, sure there's got to be a good reason to not let the computer in his brain fuck him in the middle of the exosuit hangar. Probably several. He could come up with half a dozen if he wanted to.

He just doesn't want to.

_’Audio **and** cameras?’_ he asks anyway, a little helplessly.

The SQUIP rolls its eyes. _’Was I not clear? **All** looped, Devero.’_ It approaches him, and as it does, the exo's fingers flex around him more closely, holding him immobile in their grasp. His heart pounds in his chest and he can feel his cock stir in his briefs. It reaches up and grasps his chin, tilting his head down and demanding his gaze. Its own eyes are half-lidded, the pupils blown wide-- _simulation, all simulation_, but it's fucking effective.

_’Are we doing this?’_

_’Please.’_ Devero swallows, then murmurs aloud, "Sir."

Now the SQUIP's smile is just _smug_. It stretches up on tiptoes and kisses him briefly on the lips. Without thinking he tries to embrace it, to demand a more thorough kiss, but his arms are pinned to his side by the grip of the machine. His cock twitches again.

The SQUIP cups him through his trousers as if judging his body's reaction and rubs him a little, tantalizingly. He rocks his hips against its hand-- and then grunts, surprised, as Babysitter lifts him suddenly off the ground. His feet kick and he can just graze the floor if he stretches, but there goes his leverage.

He meets Sir's eyes, and grins impishly as he hikes his legs up and tries to catch the avatar between them.

The SQUIP is absolutely, thoroughly capable of convincing his body that it's 100% corporeal and physically present-- but only when _it_ chooses. His legs pass futilely through it. It clucks chidingly at him. _’That's not the game we're playing tonight, Devero.’_

He lets his legs fall loose, hanging in the grasp of his machine's hands. "What game _are_ we playing, Sir? What can I do to please you?"

To his disappointment, the machine sets him down and releases him. But then Sir says, _’You can start by stripping,’_ and he's only too eager to obey. 

His skin prickles as he disrobes, turning away for a moment to set his clothes neatly into his locker in the corner of the bay. It's cool in the hangar, the concrete floor uncomfortably cold against his feet-- just like he'd imagined it would be, in idle daydreams and naughty fantasies. 

Sir hasn't moved from its spot when he turns back, and Devero stands in front of it again, nude and exposed and secure in the knowledge that his SQUIP is keeping this private. He feels buoyant, exhilarated, free, and impulsively closes the gap between them. He cups its shoulders in his hands-- it's real to him _now_, of course-- and leans down to it, and whispers, "Sir, will you kiss me?"

It winds its arms around his shoulders and pulls him the rest of the way. _’Since you asked so politely,’_ it says as it indulges him. It kisses him breathless, then pushes him briskly away. _’Back up. Hands over your head.’_

He retreats a few steps, glancing up and over his shoulder at Babysitter looming behind him. A frisson of anticipation makes his skin prickle again as he lifts his hands over his head. The SQUIP looks past him, above his head, its pale eye seeming to flash with blue-white light as it makes a gesture like a puppeteer taking up a marionette. Behind him, Devero hears the whir and groan of Babysitter's actuators, and as the SQUIP lowers its hand and makes a fist, he feels the exo's fingers close delicately around his upraised arms.

The SQUIP raises its fist again, just a little, and his machine lifts him just a little, stretching him to his tiptoes. Its grip on his arms is exquisite, just tight enough that he feels secure, without being firm enough that he worries about bruising-- or worse. But the potential for more is there, the weight and power of his exo is palpable behind him, and he--

Is already unfairly hard.

The SQUIP's appraising glance up between his legs is nothing so much as _approving_. It closes the distance between them and draws its fingers down the length of his cock. Its touch makes his skin _tingle_, his shaft rising the rest of the way to attention.

_’Look how eager this is,’_ it says, wrapping its fingers around him and stroking lazily. _’How eager **you** are, my Devero. Tell me--’_ It grips his balls next, exerting a deliberate pressure downwards. _’How does this measure up to your fantasies so far?’_

Of course it's seen those. He can't even be embarrassed about the fantasies it's snooped through, the way he might have been with a human partner. His SQUIP is closer to him than anyone else, beyond intimately acquainted with his sexuality and psyche. And if this is what it chooses to do with that knowledge-- well, Devero is _not_ objecting.

He shudders, deliciously helpless between the machine's fist and the computer's. "Better, it's better," he says. "Please, Sir, don't stop."

_’As you wish.;_ It releases him, steps back-- he opens his mouth as if to protest but before he can, the avatar is gesturing again, scooping its palm upwards and behind him Babysitter's servos thrum as it mimics the movement--

And hooks its other hand under one of Devero's legs at the knee. Sir gestures again, and the machine spreads his legs wide open. 

The SQUIP stands back several steps, examining him with chin in hand like an artist who's just finished setting up a gallery show. He flushes hot under its scrutiny. 

_’Not quite right,’_ it muses, now tapping its chin with a fingertip. Devero squirms uncertainly, but before he can ask, it makes a thoughtful noise--and then closes the distance between them faster than a human could possibly move. Devero lurches back reflexively as it resets its avatar directly in front of him, yelping as his straining leg loses its tenuous grip with the floor.

"Sir--!" he shouts-- protest or warning, or both-- but the SQUIP is already responding. It resets its avatar again, from in front of him to beneath him, shouldering his free leg and standing. 

_’That's adequate,’_ it says, glancing up at him from the join of his thighs. _’Don't you agree, Devero?’_

It doesn't actually need him to agree. Nestled in his brain as it is, he knows it can feel the exhilarated pounding of his heart, taste the chemical arousal swirling in his head, monitor the swollen flesh between his legs. It knows. The Cheshire Cat smile on its face makes it clear that it _knows_.

But it so likes for him to articulate himself.

He squirms again, but this is as effective a suspension as he's ever been bound in. Caught between his machine and the computer in his head, he's utterly at the SQUIP's mercy. "It's perfect, Sir," he breathes. 

Sure, his SQUIP might not actually _be_ here, but Sir feels as real to him as the machine idling behind him. How well he knows by now the incredible manipulations of muscle and nerve and neuron that his SQUIP is capable of, how easily it fools his fallible brain. This encounter may be primarily a vivid haptic hallucination-- but that doesn't make it feel any less incredible when Sir leans forward and takes the tip of Devero's throbbing cock into its mouth.

He could come right then and there. If he were with a corporeal partner, he might have. But that's one of the benefits of letting the supercomputer in his brain fuck him: it knows exactly how much pressure of lip and tongue he can endure without firing off. Mouthing leisurely around the head, it deliberately neglects the rest of his shaft. Its hands caress his thighs and squeeze his ass and stay miles away from his cock and balls. At first Devero revels in any attention to his member, but the teasing carries on-- and on-- and on--

The SQUIP takes a moment to duck down and drag the flat of its tongue from the root of his cock all the way up to the tip, leaving a trail of static tingles in its wake. "Sir," Devero groans, "please." It lifts his head, licking its lips and leaning back a little to look up at him. The tingling actually intensifies, tantalizing his painfully rigid flesh. "_Please_, I need-- I need--"

_’Oh Devero.’_ Its voice is a wicked murmur, in the back of his head as much as in his ears. _’So helpless and craving.’_ It taps the slit at the end of his cock, the 'static' discharging into its finger with a zap that makes his cock twitch. He groans again, deep in his throat. He's lost for words, so of _course_ it prompts him: _’What do you need?’_

He twists impotently in Babysitter's grip, clamping tight with the leg over Sir's shoulder as if he could drag the avatar closer-- but Sir is as steel solid as his machine. Sir doesn't flinch. It meets his eyes steadily, its demanding gaze challenging him to speak. 

Through some Herculean effort, Devero manages to find his words. "I need you to let me come," he begs. "Sir, will you? May I?"

It returns its gaze to his dick. _’Well,’_ it says, and then nothing further, letting Devero writhe for a moment that seems eternal. Then it glances up at him, smirks, and takes his cock into its mouth once again. _’Since you asked **so** politely,’_ it says despite its full mouth, the words a warm whisper in the back of his mind.

It's the SQUIP's approval as much as the sensation of being deep-throated that makes Devero buck in Babysitter's grasp, a tormented and needy sound twisting out of him. With a corporeal partner he surely would have come immediately, but the SQUIP teases him further. It keeps him poised on that knife-sharp edge of orgasm until his chest is heaving and his toes are curled and his legs and shoulders cramp with the tension in his muscles. 

He starts to beg again, "Please please _please_;" Sir draws its head back, giving him one last long suck before releasing his shaft with a wet sound ripped straight out of his memories. It grasps his cock in one hand and strokes firmly, and fondles his balls again with the other-- and makes him endure another impossible moment of relentless stimulation longer before it leans its cheek against his trembling thigh and tells him, _’Go ahead, my Devero.’_

He comes like a dam bursting.

It strokes him steadily through his orgasm, milking him like it wants to extract every drop. His whole body is trembling with aftershocks and exertion when it finally releases him. It ducks out from under his leg, guiding it down to the floor, then takes the other from Babysitter's hand and lets it down as well. At its gesture, the exo lowers him to full contact with the concrete and releases his arms. Immediately his legs buckle under him, but Sir is right there, taking his weight. It slings an aching arm over its shoulder and helps him hobble across the cold floor to the locker where he'd left his clothes.

_’Sit,’_ it tells him, and _’You did very well,’_ and then, _’May I assume muscular override and begin to clean up?’_

Before _double-shifts_, Devero would have refused it, preferring to recover and take care of his messes under his own autonomy. But in the past several weeks he's gotten used to letting the SQUIP take control of his body for certain mundane tasks. Clearing the table after dinner, folding laundry, walking home in the middle of the night-- simple things that he sometimes simply doesn’t have the energy for. Letting the SQUIP take care of them gets them done and preserves his energy for more important things (like working to the best of his ability at both of his shifts to appease Valdana).

He releases his breath in a long, deep sigh and nods permission. “But loop me,” he adds. It’s very, very weird to be a helpless passenger in his own body; he prefers the SQUIP to allow his brain a total illusion of sitting or resting while it pilots his wetware through actions completely different.

The SQUIP leans down to him and presses a brief kiss to his forehead. _’Very well.’_ Then it straightens back up, and as far as Devero’s concerned, he remains sprawled in his seat while Sir cleans up his mess on the floor, and returns Babysitter to its cradle, and then cleans him up enough to redress.

Devero knows, academically, that his own body is what’s out there performing the chores. He knows that the SQUIP has to utilize his wetware to interact with the physical world around it, since it has no corporeal form itself beyond the grey oblong pill implanted in his brain. He knows that the skill with which the SQUIP can alter his perceptions is, objectively, alarming.

He knows also that his SQUIP wants nothing more than to run its program, and that its program is to help _him_. All that incredible computational power is geared towards his well-being. If it weren’t for the SQUIP, Devero would still be ignorant to the truth of his toxic, crippling subservience to Valdana; if it wasn’t for the SQUIP, he might never have found the strength to confront the truth of what she was doing to him. And he knows that he still needs the SQUIP if he’s ever going to break free of her hold on him.

He doesn’t stand a chance without it.

So he doesn’t think too deeply about the means by which the SQUIP is able to manipulate his mind and body so skillfully. Instead, he smiles hazily at it and takes over doing the fastenings on his overcoat, and when it asks him, _’Shall I take us home?’_ he shakes his head.

_’Walk with me,’_ he says instead, and holds his arm out in invitation.

He may be mistaken, but he thinks that there’s something particularly _pleased_ in the SQUIP’s expression as it puts his intangible arm through his.

They quit the hangar, and they walk home together through the cold winter night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for indulging me by reading my SQUIP-only AU/crossover fic! If you'd like to know more about Devero and his SQUIP, feel free to check out [the source of this AU](https://subcircuits.dreamwidth.org/847.html). Just please attend the warnings on that post!
> 
> Shout out to Artoni, my partner in crime on this AU, whose fantastic SQUIP I merely hope I emulated well up above.


End file.
